Cycle

The old man rumbled and stirred where he sat. Finally he opened one twitching eye and murmured, "Hmmph?"

The nurse smiled down at him. "I'm sorry for waking you, but visiting hours are nearly over."

He opened both eyes, cocked his head to the side and looked up at her. "Chucking me out again, eh?" he asked with a sleepy grin.

"No," she replied with a chuckle, patting his arm. "Just thought you should know. That and hospital rules and all."

"I'd put up a hell of a fight!" he warned, playfully shaking one gnarled finger at her. Glancing to the bed before him, his grin faded. "She'd have my head if I wasn't sitting here when she woke up. Yours too."

"Can't have that now," the nurse replied gently. "Is there anything I can get you?"

He shook his head. "I'm fine." He repositioned himself in his chair and both of his knees cracked loudly, drawing a grunt of complaint from him. "On second thought, see if you can find me some new knees," he groaned.

She patted his shoulder again. "I'll see what I can do." She turned and walked out of the room, leaving him alone with the faint chirping of the machines surrounding his ailing wife's bed.

"She's a nice girl, Franky," he said quietly as he reached for the glass of water on the table beside him. "You'd like her." He sipped the water and made a face. It had become tepid while he had slept, but it was still wet and he forced himself to take several swallows of it before putting the glass back down. "Damned place even sucks the life out of water," he grumbled.

Looking back to her, he sighed. "So this is it, huh kid?" he asked, gazing at her sleeping face. "This is what it all comes to. Two old wrecks sitting in a room watching each other croak." He forced a weak chuckle. "Phooey. We'd have been better off if we had driven off that cliff back in '68. At least we would have went out on top." His filmy eyes went thoughtful as he had a brief recollection of how she had once pounced upon him while they were out on a drive. Caught in the passion of the moment, they went at it without pulling over first. Their frantic coupling nearly ended in tragedy but she had grabbed the steering wheel while his orgasm thrashed through his body and safely piloted them to the side of the road. From that day on, their lovemaking had always included some reference to a hidden cliff waiting to strike.

"And over we go," he chuckled, his mind returning to the moment. "Through the valley, around the mountains and right over the edge." His eyes wandered down to her chest and he watched the smooth blanket rise and fall. "But the mountains have been laid low," he whispered, using her term for when both of her breasts had been removed in an attempt to prevent the cancer that was ravaging them from spreading. She had made a point of joking about the lack of her 'mountains majesty' at every chance, but he knew how much the loss had truly affected her. She had always been very proud of both her figure and how much he adored it. Closing his eyes, he sighed deeply. "I loved every part of you, you know," he breathed, letting the incessant chirping of the machines lull him into a deep sleep.

He came awake with a start and sat up straight. Looking around the room, he saw that nothing had changed and he slumped back into the chair. "Same old same old," he noted, though his voice sounded different to him somehow. All at once, both of his ears started ringing. Frowning, he rubbed them with his hands until the annoying monotone stopped. Drawing a deep yawn to help clear them, he sat back and listened. Every sound around him seemed almost painfully clear and he wondered what had happened. Suddenly the absence of a certain sound became glaringly evident. The monitors around her bed were all silent. His heart fell and he cast a panicked eye to his wife's sickbed. "Franky!" he cried, leaping from his chair to her side. Reaching her, he placed a hand on her chest and held himself deathly still. The slow rise and fall against his hand made him release his held breath in a rush. He closed his eyes and smiled in relief. "Thank God," he whispered.

"Joseph Roman Retsek!" a quiet voice chastised him from the bed. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

He opened his eyes and looked down. Much to his amazement, his wife's eyes were open and she was smiling up at him. "Franky!" he breathed in wonder.

She glanced down at his hand on her chest and then arched a thin eyebrow at him. "Turn my back for a second and you go in for a quick feel," she huffed, though her smile never wavered.

He couldn't help but chuckle. "Back. Front. I'm not fussy."

She laughed at the familiar line. "You old pervert," she groaned.

"How do you feel?" he asked cautiously.

"Wonderful!" she replied. "They give me some new medication?"

He shook his head. "Not that I know of. They said that-" He clipped his sentence abruptly.

She frowned at him. "They said what?"

He swallowed hard. "That you probably wouldn't wake up again."

She made a face and stretched her body beneath the blankets. "Shows what they know," she remarked. "I feel great! I haven't felt this good in years!" She looked at his motionless hand still resting on her chest and loosed an exaggerated sigh. "Booooring!"

She laughed, her voice betraying no sign of either her age or her illness. "You know one of us is probably just dreaming all of this," she chuckled, but then her eyes fixed on his. "So why fight it? I like feeling like this again, even if it is only a dream."

He thought over her words and found himself unable to argue. "Yeah, Franky. I like it too."

Indecision held him in its grip for a few more seconds, but instinct took over and he tentatively started rubbing her chest the way she had always adored. His gnarled fingers trailed down the center of her chest before skimming down beneath where her breasts had been. Their absence made the trek feel awkward, but her soft moan of appreciation spurred him on. He stroked gently up her side before coming across and drawing tiny circles around one phantom nipple.

"Both," she breathed, writhing beneath his knowing touch.

He complied without thinking, massaging her chest with both hands. As he did, he noticed that the ever-present pains in his hands were gone. "They don't hurt!" he whispered to himself.

"Mmm," she moaned in delight. "How could anything that feels that good hurt?" She arched her back, pressing her chest up against his hands.

He was about to agree with her when he noticed another astonishing change. His hands were no longer bent with the ravages of age. They appeared young and strong and he flexed them in amazement. The tips of his fingers dug into her chest and she squealed. Instantly he pulled back and cried, "I'm sorry! I-!"

His words were cut off as her own hands, suddenly as youthful as his own, shot out from beneath the blanket and gripped his. She brought them back to her chest and snapped, "I don't remember telling you to stop!"

"B- but Franky!" he started. "Look!"

She followed his gaze and saw her hands holding his. She wiggled a finger and then two. "That's a good trick!" she said in soft wonder.

"I thought so too," he agreed.

Thinking a moment, a devilish gleam lit her elderly eyes. "I think I like this dream! Does it work for anything else?" she wondered aloud, holding his hands hard to her chest. He started massaging her again and slowly the blanket started to press up into his palms. In seconds, he found himself holding the magnificent breasts that he had known and loved so well. She nearly shrieked in delight before containing herself and commenting, "Yours. Definitely."

"Hmm?"

She grinned wickedly. "This must be your dream," she explained.

His eyebrows raised in surprise and he chuckled. "Maybe," he said before giving both of her stiffening nipples a hard pinch. She responded with a shuddering groan and he said, "Or maybe you wished them back so I could do that."

"Uh-huh," she gasped, losing herself in the familiar rush of warmth that spread from her taut nipples. "That might be it." He continued to squeeze and knead the soft mounds until she was panting and squirming beneath the blanket. She reluctantly pulled his hands from her chest just long enough to throw the blanket off of her body. Immediately she pulled his hands back to her to continue their sweet torment of her flesh. The massage resumed and she moaned loudly, pressing her head back into the pillow and squeezing her eyes shut. A rush of wetness between her legs drew a gasp of delight from her and her legs writhed upon the bed.

His eyes widened as he instantly recognized every one of her body's responses to his ministrations. As much as he hated to divert his full attention from her proud breasts, he slid one hand down her body and slipped it beneath her gown and between her legs. His fingers found slick flesh and he stroked it gently. As he found her clit, her eyes popped open and she stared at him with an intensity that shocked him.

"You wicked, wicked man!" she hissed from between her clenched teeth, though her beaming smile blunted her words. "Never satisfied with driving me crazy just one way, are you?"

"Just making sure your dream is a good one!" he replied with his own crafty grin.

"I know what could make it better," she said in a wavering voice as his hands threatened to bring her over the edge at any time. She reached one hand over and smoothed it over the front of his slacks.

Now it was his turn to gasp as he felt a heaviness descend upon his crotch that hadn't been there in quite some time. Her supple fingers traced the outline of the bulge now tenting the front of his pants and he saw her leer up at him hungrily. "Now look what you did," he said, nodding at her hand right before it gripped his shaft and he gasped again.

"I don't see a thing," she complained. Before he could reply, she undid his belt and pants and yanked them downward, exposing his raging erection. "But I sure do now," she breathed in wonder. Without another word, she wrapped her fingers around him and started to caress him in long even strokes. The sensation nearly bowled him over and his hands' movements upon her slowed. She flicked her thumb over the swollen head of his penis and pleaded, "Don't stop now!"

Her words brought him back to full attention and he launched into his tasks with a renewed vigor and a laugh of challenge. He slipped a finger into her and pinched a nipple simultaneously. Her sheathe tightened around his intruding digit as he felt himself nearing the end. "Franky," he breathed as he started stroking her inner heat.

"Me too, Joey," she replied in an urgent whisper as she pumped him faster. Gently pulling him toward her breasts, her eyes locked with his and she nodded. "Please."

Her heated plea was all he needed to propel him right over the edge. Cupping the breast he had been massaging, he squeezed it firmly just as the first pearly streak erupted from him. It landed directly on her straining nipple and she cried out as her own climax ravaged her. She clamped down hard on his fingers and ground herself against his hand as another white jet adorned her breast.

He struggled to remain standing as she coaxed a third pulse from his steely cock which splashed across both of her breasts. He rubbed his palm over her mons, unable to extract himself from the death grip she had on his trapped finger. The move made her body thrash upon the bed and she rubbed his cock over her wet nipples in sheer bliss.

Their movements slowed at last and they opened their eyes, even though neither recalled closing them. He looked down at her while she gazed up at him. Each now wore the face of their younger selves and they stared at each other in pure joy. As one their lips parted and they breathed in unison, "I love you." Their eyes closed again and they both sighed in contentment. The dual sounds were suddenly joined by a multitude of others. Whispers of the past trickled through their minds, voices of friends and family from years gone by now heard anew. Visions of their life together drifted behind their closed eyelids, every moment relived in blazing clarity. Slowly their consciousnesses started to merge, forming one being that suddenly rocketed into a vast abyss of shared feelings. Two voices now spoke as one as they leaped together into the unknown.

"And over we go!"

* * *

The nurse hurried into the room at the first sound of the alarm. Rushing over to the many monitors around the bed, she checked several of them and then turned to the bed's occupant. Mrs. Francine Retsek lay motionless, a pleased smile upon her face. The nurse smiled sadly and turned to her where Mister Joseph Retsek sat in his chair. He wore the same smile and she girded herself to break the news to him. "Mister Retsek?" she asked, gently shaking his shoulder. Suddenly she noticed he too didn't appear to be breathing. Slipping a finger under his jaw, she felt for a pulse she would not find. Her breath caught in her throat and she took a step back to see the elderly couple smiling across the room at one another for the last time.

* * *

"Which one's yours?"

"Second row, third one over."

"Cute. Girl?"

"Yep. My little Josephine."

"Nice."

"Thanks. Named her after my wife's grandmother. A little old-fashioned, but we figure we'll call her Josie. Or maybe Joey, if she turns out to be a tomboy like her mother. So where's yours?"

"They must dig each other. They're the only ones in there not yowling their heads off."

"Yeah. Weird. Maybe they're thinking about setting up a play date for later."

"Yeesh. Let's not rush things. He's gotta buy her dinner first."

Within the nursery, the newborns stared at each other in stunned silence. A glimmer in Franklin's eyes was mirrored in Josephine's and they smiled before each loosing a loud wail as they settled into their new frames.

And the cycle goes on.
_______

Story inspired by '9:28 a.m.' by Queensryche (Promised Land - EMI 7243-8-30711-2-8)

Bio: After seriously ticking off fans on several continents by not doing anything worthwhile with his earlier works, B.K. Bilicki has now launched into the second phase of his writing career. His stated goal is to sufficiently upset anyone he may have missed the first time around and to write enough new material to make the remainder of his furniture sit level. Furor Scribendi can be chastised by new fans and old alike at grmouser@wi.rr.com. Grr-ya.